


Hollow

by lordcyanides



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drug Abuse, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Sibling Incest, Suicide, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-07 04:49:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19202218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordcyanides/pseuds/lordcyanides
Summary: What they were doing was wrong; both knew it, but then, did they even have a choice on the matter? Noone can control whom they fall in love with. Until love takes both to a steep descent only one will walk away alive from.





	Hollow

“You are here…”

The room was suffocating with opium smoke and messy, as if a bomb had landed in it; but Namo did not care; all he cared about was the ethereal presence that lied on the floor, sprawled like a porcelain doll carelessly thrown away by a child. His brother’s half lidded eyes were glistering as if he was in the middle of a fever delirium underneath silver lashes; a soft smile on his dry lips betraying that despite his high, he was indeed happy to see him.

And that voice, so soft, so beckoning trembled with anticipation like the Devil’s trill sonata. How could he resist that voice, that concealed plea, that vision of a man, who, due to some accursed reason also happened to be his brother? “Sweet Brother…”

“Irmo…” he replied in the same manner, crossing the mess of canvases, brushes and dried flowerpetals and lifting the numbed youth in his arms, he pressed a gentle kiss on his lips. As if that was the signal Irmo expected, he clinged feebly onto his brother’s clothes, drinking the kiss from his lips as they headed to the bedroom. What they were doing was wrong; both knew it, but then, did they even have a choice on the matter? Noone can control whom they fall in love with.

Placing the frail man onto the matress and sitting next to him, Namo did not say anything for a while; merely observing. He was worse since the last time he saw him; about a month ago. He was rarely sober nowadays; as his fame grew bigger, he grew more and more fragile; his skin almost translucent at this point, stretching over his exposed ribcage. Namo wondered idly when was the last time his brother had remembered to eat. ‘What is it that makes him do this to himself…’ He couldn’t understand, and at this point he was worried that it didn’t matter; Irmo’s usual reply “that is just how I am” seemed too shallow lately. “There is something I was meaning to ask you, brother.”

Despite his altered state of consciousness; Irmo’s eyelashes fluttered in surprise. “Ask me what?”

“Are you happy, Irmo?” Irmo frowned a little; not expecting that kind of question. His brother looked so concerned… What would make someone so concerned; he silently wondered.

 

“I, I suppose so. But why do you ask?”

 

“B-because.” Namo replied awkwardly. “I just want to make sure that this is what you want. Even though this is an odd way for someone to be happy…”

Irmo smiled tiredly “Yes, that is what everyone says.”

“But I am serious. I don’t want this to backfire on you… I do not want to see you hurt… you wouldn’t hurt yourself over this… Would you?”

But Irmo had already fallen asleep.

***************************

Namo was paralyzed. Paralyzed with grief, with a nameless totality. He had no idea what to say, what to think, what to do. He had to keep reminding his lungs to draw breath, just so he didn’t suffocate in his paralysis. He shuddered. It was cold. He felt like a stranger in his own body, an intruder, an alien species. 

Despite being a judge, he wasn’t used to wearing a black suit and tie. The attire made him feel unreal. He felt like half his soul had just been ripped out and replaced by empty air. Now there was just a big, gaping hole. 

The place where Irmo had once lived. 

His inner world was freezing, and ablaze at the same time. Fire and ice. 

Beside him, Nienna was bent almost double in her grief. Although she was one used to mourning, now she looked just as out of place as Namo felt, her otherwise beautiful face as white as the flowers scattered over the tombstone. Pointless, really. He wasn’t even buried there. It wasn’t real, it could have been a fake. No body lay beneath that stone placeholder. Yet Namo couldn’t stop staring at it. 

He’s gone… 

**********************************

Irmo glared at Namo with hatred. Real hatred. So intense it was frightening. "How could you do this to me?” he spat, wounded, but Namo remained steadfast. 

“You did this to yourself, Irmo. You wouldn’t get off the drugs. I told you what would happen, but you were heedless. Now, this is the only option we have left.” 

“Fuck you. Traitor.” 

“Believe that if you will, but rehab is the only way for us to ensure you live through this.” 

“By blackmailing me?” Irmo was desperate and wild. “By taking away everything I have? Leaving me with nothing? You, you’re not saving me. You’re killing me.” 

“Irmo-” 

“You’re destroying everything! You all are! Just… just get out of my house and leave me alone, you bastard! Get out of here!” 

“Irmo! Shut up and fucking listen to me for a second-” 

“No! You’ve said enough! You’ve done enough! I don’t want to see you anymore, any of you! Get out! Get out of my house and leave me the alone! I curse you! I curse you all!”

"Irmo!” They made a grab for him. 

“N-no!” The silver haired man was frantically struggling, his eyes glazed over, insane. Then his gaze fell back to his expressionless brother; the one who used to call him “my Love”; and locked on him, filled with a poisonous rage. “You! I hate you!! Get out of my house and I never want to see you again! You vile traitor! You liar! I hate you!” 

Namo struggled to keep a straight face, but he was failing; for the first time in his career. “Irmo, please-” 

“Shut up.” Irmo was sobbing in anguish. 

“Irmo-” 

“I hate you, Namo, I hate you! I curse you for doing this to me!” 

That was where Namo finally broke. “Irmo! Shut up, you loon!” He rushed at his brother and his flailing fists lashed out at him, searching, hitting, just wanting the stupid painter to shut up for a second so he could tell him how much he loved him. 

“Namo! No!” 

He realized what he was doing then, and jumped off of his brother with a terrified cry. 

The unresponsive, unconscious painter fell to the floor. 

**************************

Namo’s shoulders were shaking, and through her paralysis, even Nienna felt dull surprise. She’d never witnessed Namo, who was always as strong and solid as a mountain, shake like this before; that strict model of a citizen; the one referred as “pitiless”, “emotionless”, “expressionless” show any form of loss of self-restraint, much less appear so broken by the loss. He must have meant more to him than he let out, she thought.

Namo’s lips moved.

“He’s really gone. I’m never gonna see him again. Oh, Irmo…”

His eyes were fixed on his dead brother’s tombstone. And he wasn’t even there. He was ashes, now, not even a person anymore. Just… dust. 

************************

Irmo had been missing for weeks now. Weeks after he learned he tried to jump off the police vehicle on the way to the mental institution. Weeks after he somehow managed to escape from there. ‘Of course he did; he is a genius, after all’ was the only thing Namo was able to think when he was informed. And now; he watched Nienna’s expression with dawning apprehension, dying to know the news. Dreading to know the news. “Nienna? Was, was that about Irmo.” But Nienna could only stare numbly, her eyes haunted. “Nienna?” Dread had turned to fear. “Nienna! Was it Irmo? Did they find him?” 

“Namo.” Nienna’s eyes were glistering, lifeless; her face paler than usual. She looked as though she was about to fall apart. “Irmo… he’s dead.” 

Namo’s legs unhinged, and he gripped the table to stop himself from falling. He thought he’d heard wrong. Was sure he’d heard wrong. 

“Wh-what did you say?” 

Nienna shuddered, running her hands through her hairless skull. Her finger nails were ragged and in most cases bitten painfully down to the cuticle. Two of them were bleeding. 

“I-Irmo…” she croaked, but her voice gave out, and it was several heart-wrenching moments before she could try again. “Irmo died, my Brother. He,   
h-he…” Namo did not care to hear the rest. A private place deep inside him howled in pain. Then he realized it was his heart. 

"What?” For all the emotion blazing away inside him, his voice, in contrast, was a strengthless whisper. “D-dead?” 

He’s dead. “Thank you, Sister… If you could grant me some moments of solitude.”

He waited until he could hear the door of his office closing shut.Then he remembered how to scream. 

“Irmo! No, no, it’s not true. Fuck it, Irmo! You f-fucking bastard…” 

The truth decimated as it hit; the truth felt no sympathy, the truth pulled no punches. The truth was uncaring, merciless, and cruel. And it tore Namo apart. 

“I’m sorry…” 

He laid against the floor, his heart breaking and spilling out, flowing in the tears from his eyes. 

*****************************

Namo remembered the viewing, before. How awful it had been. Underneath the piercing sound of their mother’s screams and drama, the deathly, stunned silence. The little man’s body, so young; so beautiful; so real and there; yet so far away. His long fingered hands. His silver hair. His angelic features. Right in front of him. Unreachable. 

He had been holding his dead brother’s hand for the entire ceremony… No matter how many times he had washed his own, when he went home, he could still feel its eerie coldness creeping up his fingers… Irmo’s voice; that used to be so melodic, echoed in his ears; hoarse by all the screaming. “I hate you, Namo, I hate you! I curse you for doing this to me!” 

Was that the curse taking its effect, then? By taking away what I loved most?

He wanted it back so bad. He wanted to talk to his brother again. He wanted to tell Irmo he was sorry for all the things he’d ever done to him, and forgive him for everything he’d done in return. He wanted to tell him thank you, for being with him, and tell him how much he appreciated everything. But more than anything else, he just wanted to tell the stupid, stubborn youth how much he loved him and cared for him. Now… now it was too late to do any of those things. Irmo had left them all. He was gone. 

 

Namo glared at Irmo’s tombstone, at the white flowers that littered the grass beneath his feet, and his vision went blurry; his eyes filled, then overflowed. “Until I see you again, my sweet, innocent Brother” he murmured, as the first tears began to fall. 

*********************

Irmo gazed up into Namo’s face, filled with a sense of apprehension. And this Namo was neither young nor old, or rather, he seemed to be both at the same time. His dimensions were blurry, like he was seeing everything through a fine layer of fog. But the look in his brother’s eyes was unmistakable. It made the young man quake, and crumble under the weight of his intensity.

Namo’s eyes were in flames.

“How dare you?” he demanded, and the walls themselves trembled. “How dare you stab me in the back like this?”

“Please.” Irmo was frantic. “You don’t understand what I had to do. Let me try and explain-”

“Nothing you could say would possibly make me understand.”

“But Sweet Brother, I-”

“Don’t you call me that!” he growled, and Irmo flinched convulsively. “You’re not allowed to call me that, not anymore!”

Through his guilt and shame, Irmo felt a twinge of confusion. Not anymore? What did his brother mean by that? “N-namo.” His voice was timid and meek, very humbled. Not his normal voice, at all. “I, I’m not sure if I know what you mean.”

“You hurt me, you know. A long time ago, when you used to call me "sweet Brother” - all the time. You hurt me, so why would you hurt me again, now? Do you hate me, is that it? What?“

"What are you talking about?” Even as he asked, Irmo felt as though he almost, almost knew what was going on, like he could taste and smell and touch the answer. He tried hard to summon it, but thinking too hard hurt his brain, made it pulse.

“Of course, you wouldn’t remember…”

“But what don’t I remember?” The silver haired man was past the point of being calm, desperate for answers. “What are you people hiding from me? What do they know? I want to know, Namo. Tell me!”

“You’ll never know, Irmo.” And the always solemn and severe Namo was crying bitterly. “You’ll never know because you don’t want to know, you’re a coward, and you hide the truth from yourself. But, but I guess that’s how it should be, and don’t pretend you want it any other way. You don’t care, why would you? You never did before!”

“Brother?” But now real, sharp pain was engulfing his head, and it was penetrating, snarling, into is brain, it felt like someone had pumped him full of white hot lead between the ears. He yelled, it was all he could do to yell, the pain throbbing, burning, swallowing him whole. “Oh Eru, my head! What’s wrong with my head?” 

“You shot yourself, you moron, and I’ll never, ever forgive you for it!”

Irmo tried to respond but could only cry in hollow, and he felt warm wetness across his cheek but when he pressed his fingertips to his face they came away slick and stained with blood…


End file.
